


Freeze! (In the name of justice!)

by 2pork



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, Jihoon just wants to be left alone, Pre-Relationship, Sort Of, established howons mention, hero!Woojin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13038252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2pork/pseuds/2pork
Summary: Jihoon never thought his power could be used for good, and he has no notions of becoming a hero either.





	Freeze! (In the name of justice!)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purplehwi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplehwi/gifts).



Jihoon never thought his power could be used for something good. It had manifested when Jihoon was five, young and stupid, naive and with hopes so high there was really only one way it could have gone from there.

“Don’t ever let anyone know what you’re capable of,” his mother had told him, bandaged hands (his fault, it was his fault—the knife, the blood, all of it) curled around his small shoulders, firm and commanding. “Do you understand?”

He hadn’t been able to answer, too shocked by what he’d caused, but his mother takes his face into her hands so that they’re eye to eye. Her hands, calloused and worn, were the only warmth JIhoon could take comfort in as her next words sent chills through him. “Your power is dangerous, Jihoon, so you have to be careful.”

Jihoon had cried then, holding on to his mother’s arms tight. “Am I… am I bad, Mom? Does my power make me a bad guy?”

Jihoon’s mother had pulled him into the circle of her arms and hugged him tight. She stroked his hair, making soft shushing noises, and murmured, “No, darling, no. You’re a good child, Jihoon, and nothing will change that. But you have to listen to me, okay? You can’t let anyone know, or they’ll make you do things you don’t want to do. Bad things. Scary things.

“Be careful who you trust, darling.”

He hadn’t understood her then, but he does now. He knows the kinds of acts he could be forced into, that he could force others into, with his power. He knows that he has to choose wisely who finds out about what he can do, if he decides to let anyone know at all. It’s tempting to spill out his thoughts sometimes, when he does meet someone gifted, someone who goes through each day needing to exert every bit of control to ensure they don’t hurt anyone with their power. He wants to be able to share his burden, to be reassured that someone has his back when he needs support.

Still, his mother’s words resound in his head and his lips shut on their own accord.

It gets easier to keep his abilities to himself as time passes. Easier to grapple the wild reins of his gift, his words that can bind people to actions, so that to any outsider looking in, he’s simply Park Jihoon. A civilian. Mundane and unremarkable.

To Jihoon’s “friends”, that’s all he is. It’s a little lonely. A little boring, and a little sad.

 

-

 

It’s on a dreary Monday morning, gray clouds looming low and heavy above the city, casting shadows onto already dark streets and even darker alleyways, that Jihoon’s life changes.

He’d freed up his Mondays this semester for a longer weekend, and so he’d have more time to work on any projects that ever came up. Regret hit him a month in, though, when the sheer amount of time with _nothing to do_ had caught up to him even after finishing his classwork. Unwilling to make social plans or join extra-curricular organizations, he’d taken to spending Mondays inside his dorm, doing whatever came to mind. Homework if there was any left over. Watching a drama if one managed to catch his attention. Mostly, he’d been playing games on his laptop.

This morning he wakes up to more of the same unwelcome listlessness. He finishes off an apple, still cool from the fridge, and deeming that as a sufficient enough breakfast, he sits in bed to ponder what to do for the day.

There’s a beep from the bedside table that’s most likely a message from one of his friends, asking if he wants to meet up for one thing or another. (He doesn’t.) Some places had sent in email announcements during the night: a cafe Jihoon frequents will start selling seasonal drinks next week, the local gym’s muay thai classes are cancelled for the week due to reasons not specified, a reminder that the Animal Health Association will be holding a bake sale this afternoon at a nearby park…

“A bake sale?” Jihoon stares at the last email intently. Being surrounded by the same four walls of his dorm _has_ been making him a little stir-crazy. And it wouldn’t hurt to have a few pastries on hand so he can have something to nibble on in case a miracle happens and he ends up having no time to eat. Plus, with the AHA organizing the event, it’s a fair assumption that at least one dog would be present on the premises.

Nodding to himself, Jihoon prepares to leave for the bake sale, donning a light cardigan right before exiting his room. He doesn’t spot any of his friends on the way out of the building, and neither do they spot him. Overall, this is shaping up to be a pretty good day already.

 

-

 

The bake sale is attended by ten dogs. And the concessionaires, event organizers, and quite a lot of customers, but Jihoon didn’t come here for them. He’s here for the pastries _and the dogs._

The first thing he does is hit the mini tarts stand. It’s simply decorated. In fact, one might go so far as to call it uninvitingly plain, which Jihoon optimistically hopes to mean they had put all their effort into making the tarts delicious. There’s a customer at the stall already, a boy about Jihoon’s age, finishing up his transaction while bantering away with someone in the adjacent booth. He waits for the other to leave, almost colliding when the boy spins around too fast and luckily hops back to avoid knocking into Jihoon.

“Oh! Careful there,” says the boy, edging around Jihoon with a too-wide grin, but a wadded up paper bag thrown at his head from the next booth rapidly has him mumbling an apology.

A colder wind than Jihoon expects suddenly wafts around him and he sneezes. “Sorry for that too,” mutters Jihoon. He rubs his nose, a bit embarrassed.

The boy shakes his head, wincing sympathetically. “It’s okay. That happens around me a lot for some reason. Don’t get sick,” he says before walking away with an awkward little wave.

Jihoon decides in a second to put the incident out of his mind and focus on the matter at hand: the mini tarts on display. On first glance, they don’t look expertly made, and the second and third round of study doesn’t do much to improve the impression. Still, he selects one that looks closest to his idea of decent tart visuals, biting into it as soon as he has handed over the payment, and just about moans when the rich taste of chocolate and hints of orange fills his mouth.

“This is so, so good,” Jihoon says, staring mournfully at the half-a-tart in his hand. God, he can almost feel his eyes welling up just savoring the taste that still lingers on his tongue. “I’ll get another two, please,” he requests meekly, wondering if this is what he has to look forward to at the rest of the stalls. If so, he’ll be broke for the next two weeks at least.

The teen manning the stand straightens up from his slouch, suddenly brighter than Jihoon has seen him being so far, much brighter even than when Jihoon had approached to buy a tart. “You think it’s good?” he inquires eagerly.

“I don’t have the words to describe it,” Jihoon answers, trying to convey how serious he is about this tart through his tone. He probably comes off a little sullen, but the other boy doesn’t seem to mind. In fact he puffs up his chest a little proudly at the admission.

“Thank you!” the other boy grins at him, boxing up the two additional tarts in a haphazard manner. “My boyfriend made them! He was supposed to be here today, but he got a callback from an audition at the last minute so he asked me to sub in at his booth.”

“Oh,” Jihoon says lamely once the chatter stops. “Good for him. Congrats?”

The other hands over the paper bag with the boxed tarts, which Jihoon takes while subtly angling himself towards the next stall. “Yeah, thanks! I’ll let him know the tart wowed you speechless.”

“G… great,” he replies and books it from Howon U Pick Me Up.

The next one has a wide selection of muffins and a much friendlier booth design, proclaiming Bran New Muffins in sunny yellow letter blocks stuck to a white arch. The person working the booth is another boy—the one who had thrown the paper bag earlier—wearing a white apron with the same yellow logo. Gracing his face is a handsome grin that has Jihoon thinking, _'Okay, this one_ definitely _has customer service experience.’_ His name tag reads _Donghyun_.

Right as Jihoon is about to place an order for a blueberry bran, a commotion erupts nearby. He’s all set to ignore it, dismissing it as an event that hadn’t been announced in the email blast, but Donghyun is peering at the hysterical crowd with concern.

“Something’s wrong,” Donghyun utters softly, and Jihoon’s instincts start blaring, screaming at him to get out of there as fast as he can.

He turns to look.

Through the rush of panicking customers, Jihoon spots a middle-aged man. He is brandishing a knife, pointing it forward with unsteady hands as he glowers at the crowd surrounding him. His clothes are shabby but bulky, capable of hiding anything on his person, and with his stance, it’s impossible to tell whether he is.

From his periphery, Jihoon notices Donghyun ducking behind the stand with a phone to his ear, and he prays it’s to call the authorities because honestly no one else seems to have thought to.

The people part around the man as he makes his way towards the concessionaire stands, still swinging the knife around as if to ward away anyone who even thinks of tackling him. He points at a booth attendant. “You, hand me all your cash,” the man rasps out.

 _'Money,’_ Jihoon thinks bitterly. _'Money! Naturally there would be money at a charity event, but stealing from a bake sale? How much is he even expecting to get?’_ He can’t help the disgust he feels as the attendant hands over some of the contents of her cash box. The money disappears upon touching the man’s hand, however, appearing to get sucked into a singular point and winking out of existence.

The seller gasps, the other half of the proceeds still clutched in her fist.

Emboldened by his success, the man pulls back his hand, lips furling into what can only be described as an ugly grimace.

A superhuman.

Jihoon is frozen in place while the urgency among the civilians escalates into a frenzied rush to escape. Even with people bumping him into the stall as they run to safety, his body is bogged down by the dreadful feeling that this might not be the easiest thing to walk away from.

“Hey,” someone calls from behind Jihoon, and it’s only when he feels a light touch on his back that he realizes Donghyun is talking to him. “You should go too. I already called the emergency hotline, but it’s not safe here. We should leave while he’s distracted.” Near Donghyun, the boy from the tart stand appears to have a different idea, having whipped his phone out to film all the action and even going so far as to walk around his booth for a better angle. Donghyun jumps to grabs the back of his shirt before he can go too far, hissing, “Hyung, come on! What do you think you’re doing? Are you _insane_?”

“Sewoonie would want to see this!”

“Sewoon would want to see you _alive_.” Donghyun bodily drags the boy back behind his booth against his protests.

Watching them struggle, Jihoon thinks there’s more than enough drama on the scene without these two adding to it.

Just then, a high-pitched wail pierces the air, followed by a gruff, “Shut it!”

The man has his knife pointed to a young girl who had burst into tears. Her mother crouches down, crooning, “Shh, shh baby, it’s alright. It’ll be okay, darling, don’t be scared. Mommy is here,” her own voice shaking, but determined to comfort her child and to allay her fears, to no avail. The girl cries harder, holding on to her mom tightly.

For a brief moment, the man faces away, and just for that moment, Jihoon almost breathes easy. He lets himself relax and hope that perhaps the authorities will arrive soon and this situation can be resolved without anyone getting hurt. Without the need for Jihoon to step in and reveal more than he’s comfortable with.

And then the man turns back, angrier than before, practically bristling as he stalks closer to the crying child. Flinching away from him only seems to light a fire under the man’s ire.

“Leave them alone!” someone cries out. The boy who had almost bumped Jihoon earlier materializes from nowhere and steps between in front of the mother and daughter, jaws clenched. His tone takes on a note of warning as he says, “You don’t have anything to gain from hurting them, so just back off before you do anything you regret.”

But reasoning doesn’t appear to work as the man takes a step closer. Then another. As he gets even nearer, the expression on the boy’s face becomes disturbingly more determined, like he’s planning on doing something stupid, something that Jihoon can’t predict from the near infinite possibilities of stupid things he could do. Jihoon can see it in his stance, the way he subtly shifts his weight as if to spring forward at the first opportunity.

This guy, a civilian, is getting ready to fight a potentially insane superhuman, and Jihoon absolutely _cannot_ let this happen.

He throws away his sense of self-preservation, his more than ten years of keeping his power under wraps, and runs towards the man, shouting as loud as he can to catch the other's attention.

(Jihoon thinks he hears the boy protest, but he pays it no mind. _Of course_ it isn’t safe, it’s not safe for _anyone_ , but out of all of the people present, Jihoon might be the one with the best chance of incapacitating this man.)

Just one second. Even a brief glance will do.

The very moment Jihoon meets eyes with the man, he takes a deep breath and yells, “ **Stop**!”

Abruptly, the man stops, knife held at an uncomfortable angle. His eyes have glazed over, face slackened, and it becomes clear that he is no longer conscious of his actions.

“ **Put down the knife** ,” Jihoon instructs, single-mindedly ignoring the way the boy is now gaping in his direction. He observes as the blade is dropped carelessly on the ground, and adds, “ **Kick it away**.”

When the knife is at a safe distance, the civilian boy moves in, pulls out a strangely bulky set of handcuffs, and proceeds to immobilize the man with quick, efficient motions.

It’s done.

Jihoon’s breath hitches as what he has done crashes down upon him. He had stopped a robbery. He had stopped a man from hurting people. But in order to do those things, he had revealed a secret that he’d been keeping for nearly his whole life.

More pressingly, he now finds himself under the scrutinizing stare of the boy who had just finished cuffing the unconscious man. Jihoon doesn’t want to hear what the other has to say.

He doesn’t want to be here anymore.

For the second time that day, he runs; only this time he listens to his instinct that tells him to get the hell _away_.

 

-

 

“Hey!”

Jihoon ignores it, bent on leaving this ridiculously vast park as fast as he possibly can. Was this walkway always this long? It feels like he has been running down the length of it for ages, swerving around a couple of straggling pedestrians, but the commotion from earlier has zapped his strength too. He flags a little, the burning in his legs prominent but negligible.

_'Just run, just run, just run, just—’_

The back of Jihoon’s cardigan catches on something (maybe a bush?) that has him stumbling back to a stop. He takes a determined step onwards anyway, but the cardigan stays stubbornly stuck. “What the hell?” Jihoon growls, swinging back around to see what it had gotten caught in and goes slack-jawed.

His cardigan is stuck to a bush alright, but attaching it very firmly is a whole block of ice that encases the bush along with part of his cardigan. God, how on earth did this happen?

An aggravated “Wait!” is shouted from the distance, and it’s the boy from a while ago, waving his hand in the air at Jihoon. “Stop running!” He slows down upon reaching where Jihoon is frankly unable to keep running anyway, not without giving up his cardigan. The boy folds into himself, taking a few deep breaths, and then straightens to stare Jihoon in the eye. “I’m so glad I caught you,” he says.

Jihoon pauses. _Caught_ him? “Did _you_ do this?” he demands, jabbing a finger at the ice block.

“Oh, yeah that’s me,” the boy admits without hesitation.

“Do… do you normally accost people like this?!” Jihoon tugs on his cardigan and stomps his foot when it predictably doesn’t come away free.

“Don’t do that, you’ll ruin your clothes,” the boy warns. “And I wouldn’t have needed to if you’d just stuck around.”

“I couldn’t have stuck around!”

“And why not? You really helped everyone out back there, and some of them wanted to thank you.”

“They don’t need to,” says Jihoon, crossing his arms. “If they really want to thank me, they can all just forget my involvement in any of it before I get in trouble.”

The boy stares at him like he’s strange. “Why would you get in trouble?”

“Because— because my powers…” Jihoon struggles to explain, but fortunately the boy makes an 'aha!’ sound and nods in understanding.

“Are you unregistered?” he asks.

“Y-yes?” That’s certainly part of the problem, but not the whole of it.

The boy only reaches over to pat him in the shoulder, causing a spine-tingling cold to run down Jihoon’s body, and grins reassuringly. The snaggletooth adds a kind of sharpness to his looks, laced with mischief. “That’s fine,” he says. “You used your power to help diffuse the situation and no one can fault you for that. Granted, I could’ve done something about it myself, but I’m out of costume right now…” He glances down at his predominantly dark outfit and makes a face. “Ugh. Anyway, I could’ve done something about it. That aside, you don’t have to run, okay?”

“I’m not a hero, I’m _unregistered_ ,” Jihoon stresses once again in case he didn’t get it the first time, “and what I did could get me in serious trouble!”

“And I’m telling you that _I_ am a hero, and whatever trouble you’re worried about, I can get you out of it.”

“Well, I didn’t know that, did I?” Jihoon exclaims. “For all I knew, you could have been some idiot civilian who thought he could take on another idiot with a knife and unknown powers!” He sees the boy puff up with indignance at being called an idiot, but cuts in before the other could say a word. “Look, could you just let me go?”

“I can,” the other replies sullenly. “But I’ll still need to tell the higher-ups about you later, just so you’re aware.”

A pause breaks open between them, Jihoon’s nervousness filling in the cracks. He fidgets with his cardigan—still iced to the bush—and asks, “Could you, um… could you _not_ do that?” Dismay crawls inside him, dragging little tendrils that make his stomach queasy, when the boy shakes his head.

“I really need to explain the civilian accounts of a person who basically ordered a criminal into unconsciousness. And I hate to break it to you, but they already know.”

“What? _How?_ Was someone recording?” Jihoon recalls an event at the booths earlier. “It’s the tart stand guy, isn’t it?”

The boy blinks. “No?” he answers, bemused. He offers an apologetic shrug as he continues to explain, “That is, no, it wasn’t _that_ recording at least. I had to turn on my communicator at the first sign of trouble, so the people at the headquarters heard everything that happened. I can’t say how many people have filmed stuff on their phones, but—”

Jihoon slumps under the sudden weight of an arm around his shoulder.

“—the cleanup crew are rounding everyone up now to take care of things, so don’t you worry about it.” The boy grins sideways at Jihoon, something warm in his eyes that shines through the cold slowly spreading from where his arm is perched. “You’ve got two options at the moment. One, I can make the report while you go off to do whatever it is you were off to do for the day. Or two, you can come to the headquarters with me and have a taste of the hero experience.”

Jihoon eyes him with disbelief. “Are you trying to recruit me?”

“Only if it’s working.”

“It’s not.”

“Then no, I’m not,” the boy says, still smiling. “But I’d still like you to come along to the meeting. This is your chance to make any requests or appeals about, uhh, your registration status.”

Jihoon mulls that over in his head. If he could smooth that over now, it’s true that he would have less to worry about moving forward… “Fine. But I’m not agreeing to any recruitment spiel,” he declares firmly.

The boy lifts a shoulder dismissively. “Don’t knock it 'til you’ve tried it.”

“I’m not trying it.”

He hums noncommittally. Slowly, the ice trapping Jihoon’s cardigan recedes into a puddle of water soaking the ground. “By the way, I’m—”

“Freeze,” Jihoon interrupts.

The boy, the hero known as Freeze, stares at him in surprise. “You know me?” His lips split into such a self-satisfied grin that Jihoon suddenly feels the urge to slap off.

“No, I know your codename because it’s a fucking stupid crime-busting pun.”

Freeze pouts. “It’s clever!”

“Yeah, sure.”

 

-

 

The headquarters of the National Association of Heroes exists mostly underground, as Jihoon later finds. It’s fronted by a fried chicken place, not so small that the disappearance of one or two people towards the back area for an indefinite period of time would be too noticeable. The restaurant can seat roughly 40 people, including the long table out front, but it’s not a busy place. Apparently, almost 90% of its income is from the lunch time rush of customers.

 

(“How do you know this?”

“I help out sometimes for free food.”

“But you’re kind of a big deal. Don’t you earn a lot as a hero?”

“We can’t throw money at _all_ our problems.” There’s a vaguely traumatized look to him, and suddenly Jihoon doesn’t want to know the story behind it.)

 

They go into a dingy little corridor just behind the kitchen, where Freeze somehow activates a _secret elevator_ behind the bookshelf separating the doorways to the men’s and women’s toilet. The inside of the elevator is disappointingly plain.

“You’re not going to give the chicken place a bad review because it has a 'disappointingly plain’ elevator, are you?” Freeze laughs out.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jihoon huffs. “Besides, no one’s supposed to know about your stupid secret elevator.”

In contrast, the elevator doors open to a very extravagant lobby that doesn’t fit his idea of a superhero headquarters either. Plush couches and ornate furniture, crystal vases atop tables with delicate designs carved onto the legs. It looks like a scene transplanted straight out of a hotel.

“Can I just say, nothing I’ve seen so far has matched my expectations...?” Jihoon tries unsuccessfully to stop himself from gaping.

Freeze bumps his shoulder and tugs him straight through the lobby into another elevator. “The luxury is just to throw people off,” he says once the doors close. “The rest of the place doesn’t look like that.”

“I feel thrown off.”

“Does it make you want to join us though?”

“Not really,” says Jihoon.

Freeze laughs. “Worth a shot.” The elevator dings—dings!—to a stop, and he leads Jihoon out and down a sleek corridor that fits the idea of a secret hero hideout that movies have plied into his head. Freeze stops outside a set of chrome doors which slide open in front of them, and he gestures Jihoon in ahead of him wordlessly, quirking a small reassuring smile when Jihoon returns a helpless look.

Jihoon doesn’t know what he’d expected coming here. For the actual top heroes to meet him? Or an injured hero relegated to deskwork while recovering because sitting still at home is unbearable? Or any hero that the NAH supposes would do a better job than Freeze at pulling Jihoon into the organization officially? But definitely, Jihoon did not expect a bunch of suited-up executives in a boardroom and the disturbing impression that he has been called to make some sort of presentation.

He also doesn’t imagine someone would say, “Park Jihoon, we’ve been expecting you,” of all the cliches. And _of course_ they already know Jihoon’s name. They had probably gotten background information on each and every one of the people who had been at the bake sale in the time it took Jihoon and Freeze to walk here.

But it’s not a long meeting, really, and he wonders if Freeze had kept his communicator running on their way here because the executives only ask him to briefly describe the events from earlier.

After Jihoon says his piece, they move on to discussing the damage control performed on the witnesses and how they have already arranged a trauma specialist for the child. (“Wow,” Jihoon mumbles, thinking they sure don’t half-ass things, and from the side he sees Freeze giving him a thumbs up.)

It’s only at the end, after reassuring Jihoon that, “The civilians have all been warned not to disclose your identity, and you have nothing to worry about from the NAH-affiliated heroes in their civs,” that they ask the one question Jihoon has been dreading.

“Park Jihoon-ssi,” one of the executives starts cautiously. “Can we really not interest you in joining the organization? I assure you, we have funding enough to provide you with a competitive benefit package.”

“Um.” Competitive benefit package? What the hell? “No… thank you?” he responds, uncertain as to how they’ll take it. “I’m pretty decided on not being a hero.”

“Ah, but there are other positions within the NAH that don’t involve fighting street-level crime. Perhaps you would like to stay and hear more about them.”

Jihoon shakes his head. “I, uh, I’d just really like to go home now and, and do my usual things. If that’s alright with you,” he adds, keeping his eyes on the floor when he feels the tickling urge to orchestrate his escape from here. “I’m fine the way I am.”

The executive nods her head, giving him a tight, professional smile and tells Freeze to escort him out of the premises.

 

-

 

They stand at the entrance of the restaurant, Freeze looking faintly disappointed but after several aborted attempts to say something, he has taken to simply studying Jihoon openly, his face an unreadable mask. Jihoon himself is itching to leave, but hesitation keeps hitting him at the moment of turning away.

Finally, Freeze asks, “Is there really nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“Look, I’m not a hero, okay?” Jihoon says tiredly. “I can’t do it.”

“I think you can be, though. I think you already are.” There’s a stubborn frown on the other’s face that speaks of how much he wants to prove this statement to be true.

Frustration wells up inside Jihoon and he wants to explain that it’s not just about saving people. He has been living in anonymity this whole time and it has worked out for him so far. He wants to say that he’s afraid of being used, and that he wants so badly to stop being so afraid.

But they’re not close enough for Jihoon to burst out with all his issues and expect to be understood. In fact, they don’t know each other at all.

Instead, Jihoon utters a soft goodbye and makes to leave, heart heavy.

“Wait. Please.” Freeze stares at him, emotions warring in his eyes. He starts to say, “You should know…” and pauses, seeming to rethink his words. He looks away for a moment, letting out a sigh, and then meets Jihoon’s gaze again, steady and sure. “My name. It’s Park Woojin.”

“I should know your name?” Jihoon asks doubtfully.

Freeze— _Woojin_ flashes a grin at him, brimming with confidence and giving Jihoon a strange feeling of expectation. “We’ll meet again, Park Jihoon,” he says. “You haven’t seen the last of me yet.”

 

-

 

end

 

-

 

aftermath

 

-

 

Two weeks pass without incident before Jihoon finally settles into the humdrum of a rather uneventful life. His Mondays go back to alternating games and homework, but the resolution to stay inside and avoid trouble remains unbroken. It gets boring after a while, but safe. Quiet. Peaceful.

He lets himself sink into it.

Pretty soon, the monotony turns mind-numbing. The sluggish drag from one day to another is an agony he has always been feeling, but now it’s so potent it becomes suffocating.

And then on a Monday morning too bright and sunny to be wasted indoors, Jihoon steps out of the dormitory building for some fresh air and comes face to face with someone he never thought he’d meet again.

Woojin’s grin is a blinding competition to the sun-kissed surroundings, his space-invading ways making a comeback with the arm he slings easily around Jihoon’s neck. “Thought you’d gotten rid of me?” he asks, cheeky like Jihoon remembers him to be.

“Yes,” Jihoon confesses. “But thank god I haven’t.”

The grin widens. "Great! Because have I got news for you..."


End file.
